“Don’t pay to be the clown.” That’s it. My great advise to the world. It’s not even mine, just a hand me down from wiser than I.
Picture the midway. The smell of cotton candy and those damn funnel cakes tempting you. Flashing lights of games and carnies hawking the chance to win the one in a million prize, they are cheaper if you order in bulk. Farther on the rides, more lights, high tech gears and hydraulics spinning and clacking, screams and laughs. But in the middle, majestic, bright colors with white lights, painted horses, dragons, dolphins and seahorses, old timey cars or trains. Brilliant and boring. I always ride the carousel, wish it could run faster or be more exciting. I ride it anyway.
Maybe it reminds me of when I was a child and the simple things could make me happy. Make me laugh like clowns tumbling out of a tiny car, getting pies thrown in their face.
There is a secret about clowns. It’s just makeup and wigs. After we all leave, they are the ones that have to clean up. haul the trash and shovel the elephant yard. Hence the advise, never pay to be the clown. Eat the cotton candy. play a rigged game for a Kewpie doll. Ride the carousel
The New Word Wars 